Retail Therapy

Before I get going here, I just want to say that Mr. is doing fine. He's working on his left-legged knee-bends and is his usual charming/ornery self. I say this for the benefit of those of you who've been following his progress and don't want to wade through my ramblings about my day out. You're welcome.

because you didn't want to see me shopping: attribution below

Yesterday, I went shopping in a Target store.

As I wrote that, I imagined what my reaction would have been in the great beforetimes: Big Deal.

But yesterday it was a treat, because I've only set foot in an actual Target bricks and mortar about half a dozen times since that awful day. Most of my various and sundries have arrived on my porch via Amazon, a service that I once shunned but now rely on. So many of the things I need can't be found at a local store. The delivery is wonky, of course. Despite my best efforts, things often arrive willy-nilly, not together, probably because they're coming from different warehouses or vendor locations.

But I digress.

I wanted to go to Target for two reasons. 

First, because I had a $100 gift card burning a hole in my pocket. It was a reward for answering survey questions for a service I've belonged to for who-knows-how-many years. 

Second, because I needed shoes, and I wanted to try them on. Ordering clothing and shoes over the internet is a crapshoot because the sizing is funky. It's disappointing if a shirt doesn't look the way you'd imagined; it's another thing if your kicks are pinching your toes or sliding off your hooves.

Sketchers seemed the way to go. I've had a couple of slip-on pairs that I wore to pieces. And Mr. Ginley got 2 pairs, courtesy of my sister, Denise (and nieces who work at DSW), and they have been a godsend. They slip right on Mr.'s feet. (He can do the right foot, I still need to assist with the left.) He loves the way they fit, and I love not having to tie or velcro them on. 

So, there I was in the Target ladies' shoe department, trying on what I thought was my size. Turns out, my feet have grown or flattened out or whatever. I found a pair that felt like I was walking on clouds, and will hopefully remain as comfy throughout their lifetime.

The most difficult part of the shoe-buying process was removing the stiff cardboard inserts. Once I'd gotten past that, I had to deal with the elastic string holding the two shoes together. The past year has taught me that, if nothing else, I'm adaptive, so I baby-stepped my way down the aisle to ensure both shoes fit comfortably. Mission accomplished.

On to ladies' lingerie. Or, as my Mom used to call them, "unmentionables."

There I found what I needed, although I must say, it took me a stupid amount of time to locate everyday briefs in my size. No thank you to wedgie-cut panties. Why would you want to wear something that see-saws its way up your posterior all day long?

I heard your "ew" from here. Sorry, moving along...

At this point, I was about two-thirds of the way through the gift card and casting about for ways to spend the remainder. Razors for Mr. Ginley did the trick, although, Target being Target, I managed to find several other items I "needed," such as the "family-sized" bag of M-n-Ms (don't judge, Mr. and I are a family), some festive Halloween-decorated cookies, and a supply of the Bodyarmor sports drink I've become addicted to.

Thus pushing my total, including tax, beyond the gift card amount, tagging on another $50 dollars or so.

To further reward myself, I stopped at the in-store "Starbuckets" (as Joe once called it) and nabbed a tall mocha on the way out.

Judge if you will, I care not. It was so refreshingly normal.

Sometimes, retail therapy does work. And it's ever so much more fun than stewing about the crappy hand we've been dealt. 

Photo attribution: Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons: Yingling's Boot and Shoe Store trade card, 1879, printed in Allentown, PA; created by Mary S. Yingling (1816-1900). I'm thinking the boot on the left had a reinforced toe and the one on the right did not.